


Sanctification

by deputyrook



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bunker Ending, F/M, Nuclear Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deputyrook/pseuds/deputyrook
Summary: You're locked in the bunker with a madman, and with every small touch you're starting to unravel.





	Sanctification

It’s your pride that’s wounded the most.

Not your spirit, somehow, despite the events that occurred approximately a week ago now. It’s not even your ankle, which is either sprained or broken to a debilitating degree. No, it’s your pride that aches in your chest as Joseph feeds you your meals and gingerly re-wraps your ankle daily. Your cheeks still burn from the embarrassment of having to ask to use the washroom, and the need to lean on him to bring you there.

 _Pride._ Just another damn thing he was right about.

“You need to be cleaned.” He murmurs one afternoon, as he clicks your cuffs shut back around the bed you’ve been chained to. Your entire body tenses, immediately reminded of being held underwater by John. As his eyes bore into yours with the same intensity they always hold, you raise a tired eyebrow.

“You’re still dirty, from when the final seal broke.” His eyes flick from yours, trailing over your body in assessment. “You haven’t been clean since then.”

He wasn’t wrong, but before you could answer, or ask to be unchained to use the shower, Joseph stood. Without another word, he exited the room. You shifted on the floor with a sigh, trying to find comfort- this wasn’t the first time he’d left like this, and there was no telling if he’d be gone for two minutes or two hours.

But you hear water running, and he returns several minutes later with a bucket of water and a rag. You look from it to him, and frown. He kneels in front of you, his eyes peering into yours again, as if searching for some kind of familiarity inside your soul.  _Joseph Seed, the man with no concept of person space._

“Do you need help getting undressed?” He asks, voice low and soft. “I won’t ask you to discard your decency, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You clear your throat and look away. “Can I use the shower instead?” You ask, voice rough.

Not breaking eye contact, his lips curl into the faintest smile. “You’d fall.” He says, with the certainty of a prophet. “I  _will not_ give you the opportunity to leave me. I won’t even let it be a possibility. Do you understand? We need each other now.” His voice carries an edge of impatience to it, and you can only nod in response, realizing the attempts to convince him would be fruitless. In the seven days you’ve been stuck here with him, you’ve seen him swing wildly between lucidity and insanity, kindness and rage. Most of the time, he finds shelter somewhere in the middle.

Seemingly making up his mind, Joseph sets the cloth on the edge of the bucket. He leans forward even closer, his hands hovering for just a moment before he rests them on your hips. You draw in a sharp breath as his fingers slip under the waistband of your jeans, and his eyes watch you almost curiously, as if measuring and analyzing your reactions. Joseph carefully unbuttons your pants, and pulls them from your body fluidly. When they’re off of you, he deliberately takes his time folding them and setting them off to the side neatly.

Your face is burning now. As usual, Jospeh is shirtless, his lean, scarred and tattooed chest on display. The cool air hitting your legs is causing a shiver to run across your body.

When you look back up at Joseph, he has a knife out. Eyes widening in alarm, you open your mouth to object before he places one of his fingers to your lips. “ _Shhh_.” He murmurs. “Hold still.”

Fearing what may happen if you twitch too much, you do as you’re told. The knife slips under your shirt, and as easily as cutting through butter- as though he’s used it for this purpose a thousand times before, Joseph slices your top off. It falls to the ground in pieces, and Joseph runs the knife lightly across the skin of your stomach before setting it down. You shiver again, and it has nothing to do with the cool air this time.

“There was no salvaging it. Sometimes filthy things must be thrown away.” His voice is cold now, and he takes a deep breath. “But sometimes they must be cleansed. No matter how dirty they start.”

You swallow nervously, watching his movements. His eyes are trained just above the collar of your bra, where the word  _WRATH_ is etched into your skin in jagged letters.

“ _Wrath._  Maybe I should carve the sin of  _Pride_  in your skin as well.” His voice holds a bitter note, no doubt thinking of his family. Still, Joseph raises his hand, and softly traces the letters with his fingertips, almost contemplatively.

The sound that comes from your throat is completely involuntary. It’s half of a gasp and half of a whine, and you flush an even darker scarlet hearing it and knowing the sound didn’t escape Jospeh’s notice. His eyes shift immediately from the lettering to meet your gaze, and he holds it as his thumb brushes against your collarbone. You can’t hold back a whimper.

 _It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone._ You realize.  _Not just since getting to the bunker, but before. No one has treated me with tenderness in months. No one has touched me softly._

You bite your lip and shift, looking away and feeling betrayed by your body. Shame floods you-  _this is wrong, this is the man who runs-ran a cult, killed his baby daughter-_

“So many chips in the walls of your temple.” Joseph breathes, tracing a scar on your stomach lightly, and then one on your hip. You feel exposed, vulnerable and laid out before him. The washcloth rests on the edge of the bucket, ignored. His hands slowly move to your thighs, and he watches for your reaction. He isn’t left wanting- once again, as if instinctually, you gasp and shiver. 

Joseph’s thumbs rub circles into your skin, and when he speaks, it’s as if he’s trying to impart something to you that is essential for him to convey. “We are  _real._  We have survived.” His eyes bore into yours, face so close now you can feel his breath on your lips. “’ _Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as we have.’_ ”

Joseph pauses, hands resting on your thighs, and when he speaks his voice is low. “Oh, I know how hard you tried to fight it.”

Your heart is thrumming in your chest now, feeling yourself be drawn in again like a moth to flame. You hate that you can’t tear your gaze away. You hate that he’s starting to make more and more sense to you. You hate that you want him to keep touching you.

“Was this how it was always going to end?” You ask, voice nearing desperate.  _The longer I’m spending here with him, the further I’m moving from reality. It’s slipping, it’s impossible to hold onto._  “Was it always going to be you and me?”

You see a flicker in his eyes, a recognition- a hunger maybe, or a satisfaction that you’re finally understanding. Other emotions that are too deep for you to recognize and comprehend. Joseph withdraws his hands, and you make a small dissatisfied noise in the back of your throat. He replies with a sound of his own, a noise it takes you a moment to realize was a chuckle.

“Yes.” He answers simply, reaching for the washcloth. “From the moment you stepped forward to arrest me.”

You stay silent as he washes your skin clean, though it’s difficult to keep your breathing even at times. Joseph is slow and methodical, and it’s difficult to tell if he’s gaining any pleasure from this or if he simply views it as a task which needs to be completed. Your entire body feels oversensitive, and by the time he finishes, you’re shaking.

“Joseph-” You start, but your voice dies in your throat. It’s the first time you’ve addressed him by name.

He lets out a long, even breath, and then he stands, looking down at you and drying his hands. “You don’t need to fight it.” He says.  _“_ You  _can’t_  fight it. So don’t.”

And he leaves you alone in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> deputyrook.tumblr.com


End file.
